


Calyx

by PomoneCorse



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Body Issues (tm), Couch Sex, F/M, Messy Handjob, all he needed to get sidestep was twelve years and a flower, poor ortega, two morons fall into bed (or the couch)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 00:26:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17756273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PomoneCorse/pseuds/PomoneCorse
Summary: There's a camellia on the far table. Not blossoming, not yet, not the season. But.Solana thinks she knows what colour it'll be.She reaches out to touch the stem, careful. Fragile - her, or the plant? She isn't sure. Not with the shards of her self glued back together so haphazardly.





	Calyx

There's a camellia on the far table. Not blossoming, not yet, not the season. But.    
Solana thinks she knows what colour it'll be.   
She reaches out to touch the stem, careful. Fragile - her, or the plant? She isn't sure. Not with the shards of her self glued back together so haphazardly.   
"Recognize it?" comes Ortega's voice at her back, and she nearly jumps out of her own skin. Shit, she’d forgotten he was there. "I wasn't able to save all those you kept going, but I was able to grab this one. Before... before the funeral."   
She doesn't like how soft his voice's gotten, stuffed to the brim with the regret of seven lost years instead of the evening's joking, light flirtiness.   
"There was another pot, too. It had purple flowers, I think-"   
"The hyacinth," Solana mutters, hand on the little blue plastic watering can near the camellia. "They'd flowered only once."   
Unwelcome memory; a shard sticking out of where she'd slotted it. Careful.   
"I tried to save it, but you know me," he laughs, hollow in the emptiness of the room. "Two black thumbs."   
"You kept this one alive, though," she says despite herself. She can't face Ortega. Not when she feels so raw, and control is a rapidly fading dream.   
"Of course I did. I couldn't lose more, not all of-"   
He coughs.  
“Had to prove I wasn’t a complete failure, Sol,” comes the joke, and she turns back to face him.   
“Shut up,” is the only thing that comes to mind, because right now Solana can’t stand how jagged everything feels.

And then she punches him.

Like last time, she doesn't know who kisses who first, but one moment Solana stares up into Ricardo's stupid, trusting face, the next she's up on the tip of her toes while he bends closer and cradles her head.   
It's awkward, to say the least. She barely reaches up to his chin, has to tug him down by the shirt and try not to tip over the camellia.

But this isn’t the first time they try to make out.  
They stumble closer to his couch, interrupted only when Ricardo falls backwards, bringing Solana down with him. Down there the size difference is less jarring, less bothersome.   
Kissing Ricardo is like - taking a breath. She's missed that. It's a small reminder of what home could be, and how she can never, ever have it.  
His hands...  
Oh no. Wandering hands, like after the dinner. Solana pushes down the panic, covers it up with rash decisions.  
"Stop wriggling," she says, trying to pin him by the wrists. "You're like a worm, Ilio, I swear."  
"Ah, and you're the early bird? Because-"  
"Finish that sentence. I dare you," she smiles, all teeth.  
"Or what? You'll kiss me some more? Such a terrible fate, Sol, ¿Cómo podría soportarlo?" and that decides it.  
She goes for the throat. _Can't bear it_ , right.  
And oh, he hasn't changed. That still revs him up, no matter how much he laughs, no matter how he bares his throat. They’re not in their twenties anymore, the wear and tear of the years heavy on them both, but still. He’s hard against her hip.   
With one hand she pins both of his above his head, worrying the pulse point on the right side of his neck. The other wanders down, slowly, while her traitorous hips rock down and grind over his thigh.  
If Ricardo notices how desperate she is to stay on top, he doesn't say.  
At last she unzips his jeans, careful to keep his attention on both her very insistent hand and the mouth - and teeth - at his throat.   
"Come on, So- oh," he moans as she palms him through his boxers - bright red, with the little lightning bolts.

Sentimental. 

Foolish.

She needs her second hand to push his pants down, lets go of his wrists.   
"You will," she can't stop the reply, before spitting in one palm. Urgh, what a terrible line. But she can't stop grinning. This banter feels so familiar, so easy. Too easy.   
Ricardo notices - opens his mouth to reply, to joke - and then she's back on him, mouth working along his jaw while her hand picks up rhythm.   
And poor Ricardo, how he looks. Flushed and tortured, one hand grasping at leather that must have seen much. Theories; as useful as a fever dream. No point chasing them. She breathes, reminds herself to come back to the present.   
"Feels good?" Solana asks, voice hoarse and sounding so unlike her. She struggles not to cough or laugh. Her hand is slick with spit and pre-cum; Ricardo must  _ like _ the sight of it all, with his eyes almost glazed over.

He opens his mouth to reply when she bends back down and licks a path up his cock, alongside the vein, and he loses hold of whatever he was going to say. Who knew he could be this quiet, even with someone's head between his thighs? If anything, she'd have thought him bolder, louder.    
But that gives her an edge.   
Keeping hold of his gaze, she swallows him whole, tongue flat in her mouth.   
There's no way for Solana to know exactly what he thinks - not for the first time, she doesn't know if that's a disadvantage. She doesn't want to confront whatever may be inside his head, especially now.   
Not with how his fingers flex with every small hum, or how his hips stutter when she straightens up, and he pops out of her mouth with an obscene sound in the quiet of the room.   
His hand shoots out to catch her free one, flat against his thigh - warmth seeping through the fabric, an anchor, and the small circles his thumb rubs on her skin setting as many fires. His other hand runs through mousy brown hair and even if she knows he does his best not to push, she leans her cheek into his palm.   
That seems to do the trick, if the fingers tangling in and lightly pulling her hair are any indication. From tales of past exploits she knows he likes using his mouth, would have liked to kneel and worship.

That's out of the question.

His breathing's shallow, small noises torn from half-open lips. She thinks she can hear variations of her name, knows she's doing good when the syllables turn to bilingual vulgarity.   
It's exhilarating, the sight of the ex-Marshal turned a needy mess. It's inebriating, to be the one doing it.

His hips stutter, his hand still holding hers tightens and-

She stops.

He throws an arm over his eyes, face raised upward to the plaster ceiling.   
"Ah- Sol, please," Ricardo begs, and Solana leans back, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.   
"You waited twelve years," she says, unsure where this particular bitterness comes from. "You can wait a bit longer."   
But let no one say she isn't magnanimous: one hand keeps working at him, fingers slick, constant. It's... something else, to have her oldest (only?) friend exposed like this, after a little more than a decade on the knife's edge. By all rights this should never have happened, and yet. She keeps making mistakes.   
But then she catches sight of Ricardo's hooded gaze, and feels herself relent.   
He spends himself with a whine, face twisted up like he took a hit (and she feels like she did, too, a punch to the stomach at the sound) while he comes over her hand and his stomach. Solana keeps pumping for a few more heartbeats, slowing down until Ricardo lowers his legs on either side of her on the couch. The only sounds are their breathing and the mechanical ticking of the clock.    
She wipes her hand on his discarded hoodie, unsure how to proceed.    
His hand still grasping her left one surprises her. Shit, she'd forgotten she was holding it.   
"C'mon, let me help you out," he says.   
No, no no no no no-   
"Sol? What's wrong?"   
Shit, this can't happen. She never should have been so stupid, everything is ruined, or will be-   
She has to push him away. Before-   
"You can't!" she blurts out, "Ilio, I can't."   
Ricardo stops, sits up.   
"Clothes on, I swear. I don't even have to look, if that's what worries you."   
And sure, that sounds tempting, but. But. It's too risky.   
"Sol, look at me."   
She can't look at him in the eye, so she resorts to staring at a spot between his brows.   
"You deserve to feel good. I know it doesn't feel true, or right, but it is."   
Shit. Fuck. Son of a bitch, he's pulling the puppy eyes.   
"I don't think I'll ever be ready for any of that," she says, because it's true. Even with the truth of what she is.   
"Can I hold you, at least?" he asks, like that'll fix everything.   
Solana wants to believe the lie that it might. She nods.   
Ricardo pulls her closer, slowly, like sex made him sluggish. Or like Solana's some stray, feral animal that might lash out any second. That might be true.   
She lets him.   
Is she terrified of bolting? Desperately craving some touch she very well can't have? The thoughts burn through her mind until she's level with Ricardo's chest, listening to his heartbeat.   
Louder than the mechanical clock.

"I got some mouthwash, if you need it," says Ricardo. His voice is a pleasing grumble she feels more than she hears.   
Solana tilts her head up.   
"How thoughtful," she smiles, then kisses him.   
"Mierda, Sol, come on! That's my own-"   
"It's okay, you got mouthwash," she snorts.    
This feels... right. The rhythm of a heartbeat under her ear, the kiss on her forehead.   
It's soothing. Solana lets herself believe the lie that this might last, that maybe she's worth holding onto. This could be home, if everything was different.

**Author's Note:**

> Because i'm a messy bi i cant choose which ortega i prefer, so expect a Julia/Sol piece before Valentine's Day?  
> i hope lmao
> 
> also on [tumblr](http://mademoisellegush.tumblr.com/post/182757182575/calyx), if you wanna reblog/like it there!


End file.
